


The Path I Fear to Tread

by Isis



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Face-Fucking, Forced to rape, Possessed Victim noncons Victim, Possession, Unwilling Arousal, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: Anders planned a romantic evening with Hawke.  Justice has a...different plan.





	The Path I Fear to Tread

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CariadWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CariadWinter/gifts).



> CariadWinter, your prompts were amazing and right up my id-alley. I hope you like reading this as much as I liked writing it!
> 
> Huge thanks to chicago_ruth for beta reading.
> 
> Dialogue at the beginning of the story is verbatim from the game.

Anders’ heart skittered in alarm when he heard the outer door open. But the tread of footsteps marked a familiar cadence, and sheepishly he leaned against the wall, trying to look casual. He’d been blunt and announced his intention to the servants; they all knew him, of course, as he’d been to Hawke’s mansion many times. They’d smiled knowingly – approvingly, he hoped – and taken themselves to the basement or the attic or to visit the Blooming Rose, wherever it was that servants went when they weren’t called for. Not that he had much knowledge of that sort of thing, living in the back room of his Darktown clinic, where if he wanted something he had to fetch it himself.

“You’re here,” said Hawke as she entered the room. She had unslung her staff and left it in the outer hallway, and traded her working robes for something soft and comfortable-looking. The wine-colored cloth wrapped around her body, accentuating her slim hips and small breasts, and Anders wondered again how amazing it was that this beautiful woman was interested in him. Everyone in Kirkwall admired her – well, those who didn’t want to kill her admired her – and out of all of them, he was the one she’d chosen.

As that thought crossed his mind he felt a burning in his breast, as though he’d eaten something excessively spicy. But by now he could distinguish mere heartburn from the prickling sense of Justice’s scorn. No question what was the source of this particular sensation.

Hawke smiled, and lifted a hand to caress his stubbled chin. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”

Anders loved the way her lips quirked when she smiled, as though the entire world held a joke that only she was in on. He loved the feel of her fingers moving on his skin, cool and smooth and soft and strong. They’d go upstairs to her room, and they’d take off their robes, and then he’d feel those wonderful fingers on his whole body, touching him everywhere, and he’d finally get the chance to touch her, too, as he’d always….

He winced as another sharp pang burned through his chest. “Justice does not approve of my obsession with you,” he muttered, and Hawke’s perfect eyebrows arched. “He believes you are a distraction. It is one of the few things on which he and I disagree.”

“If you hadn’t come, I’d be out looking for you.” She held out her hand, and he took it and pulled her into his arms. Kissing Hawke was nice, too, and the promise in her lips made him go all shivery again. She cared for him. Maybe she even loved him, or if she didn’t yet, maybe she would eventually. All he wanted to do was let himself fall in love with her. 

When they parted, she held on to his hand and led him across the parlor to the stairway. He found himself babbling about love, which sounded faintly ridiculous even to his own ears, but he couldn’t help it. In the Circle they had never dared – _he_ had never dared to let himself love another mage. “It gave the Templars too much power if there was something you couldn’t stand to lose.” He felt Justice’s derision in his chest. But Justice didn’t understand. A spirit from the Fade didn’t have the heart, didn’t have the emotions that an actual human being did, even if it shared his emotional human body. Justice had only one drive. And so, as they stood in front of Hawke’s luxuriously-soft-looking bed, it was for Justice as much as it was for Hawke that he said to her, “It would kill me to lose you.”

She ran her hand down Anders’ arm. Her smile was as warm as her fingertips were cool. “You aren’t going to lose me.”

He was sure he was going to say something stupid again. Something about love, no doubt. It was disgusting, really, how much he thought about love, which when you considered it dispassionately (dis-passionately – hah!) was a ridiculously impractical thing; desire was understandable, of course, but love? It only got in the way of everything else. It gave those cursed Templars a hold over the mages, and it made you hesitate before doing what was necessary. It made you consider someone else’s wishes when you ought to be holding to your own path.

 _That sounds like something Justice would think_ , Anders thought to himself wryly.

And then panic suffused his body as he realized that it _was_ something Justice was thinking. Those were Justice’s thoughts, not his own, and so it was Justice ascendant in his body, taking over at exactly the wrong moment. Anders tried to move forward, to claim another delicious kiss, but he was frozen in place. Justice had control. 

“We’ll see about that,” he heard his own voice say, and then his lips were crushed to Hawke’s, claiming them fiercely, angrily, possessively. He felt the wiry muscles of her arms under his palms as he held her tightly against his body – no, as _Justice_ held her tightly against Anders’ body.

 _Wait, this isn’t fair! You don’t even_ like _her!_ There was no reply, but of course, he didn’t expect one. As he’d told Hawke once, it wasn’t as though he and Justice actually carried on conversation with each other. It seemed particularly unfair that he’d been the one to have the idea of kissing Hawke again, and Justice had been the one to actually _do_ it. 

At least he could enjoy it, even though he was an observer rather than a participant. He felt Hawke’s mouth open under his assault, felt her body give under his as they both fell heavily onto the bed. Her hands gripped his ass for a moment, then moved up his back and then to the fastenings of his robe. 

Apparently Justice didn’t mind that, for he clamped his knees around Hawke’s body and straightened so he could strip off the loosened robe, then – in an oddly prissy gesture for someone presumably in the throes of sexual ecstasy – carefully laid it at the foot of the bed. Then he turned back to Hawke and stripped off her house-robe. “There,” he growled – he actually growled, marveled Anders. _I didn’t think my voice_ _could even_ do _that._

“Anders, you’re going all glowy,” said Hawke. Her voice held the first note of hesitance Anders had heard that evening. She scrambled backwards on the bed a little, but Justice pushed Anders’ body forward and pinned her down. 

_That’s because it’s_ not me. He tried to make his lips form the words, but they were no longer under his control. Instead he felt Justice lean down and forcefully kiss Hawke again. This time Hawke’s lips fought to remain closed, and her hands pressed back against his chest as she squirmed to get free. But for all her inner strength, she was smaller than him, and Justice, who had been a warrior when Anders had met him and still had instincts honed from his time in Kristoff’s body, easily overcame her efforts to push him away.

“Back off! You’re hurting me,” said Hawke, in a sharp tone that Anders had rarely heard – at least, not directed towards him. 

“I warned you that I would hurt you.” It was his voice, but Justice’s implacable words. And those were his hands and his legs, but Justice was using them to hold Hawke down, forcing her legs apart with his knees, forcing her hands above her shoulders and shoving them down into the mattress. It was his prick that had grown stiff with desire, but Justice was the one pressing it against Hawke’s bare stomach.

“Anders said that. But you’re Justice, aren’t you.” Her lips curved around the name as though in acknowledgment of the irony.

“We are one. I said that, too, if you remember.”

“In that case, _Anders_ , back off. Or did you mean only the part about hurting me, and not the part about caring for me?”

Her direct gaze made him want to lower his own, to babble apologies. But he wasn’t in control. “As you cannot have Anders without Justice,” he heard his voice say, “you cannot have my affection without pain.” Justice slid up her body so that Anders’ cock was poised at Hawke’s lips. “Or have you changed your mind about wanting this?”

“I’ve got teeth, you know,” said Hawke, almost conversationally.

Anders would have flinched had he been able. _I’d rather not let her maim me,_ _if it’s all the same to you!_ _Then again,_ _Kristoff wasn’t exactly whole when you possessed him_ _. I suppose you don’t care if...things get bitten off._ Reflexively he tried to move away, to put his hand in front of his all-too-vulnerable crotch, even though he knew that he was trapped in his body with no ability to move.

To his surprise his hand moved. And he saw the moment that Hawke, looking into his eyes, noticed the sudden anguish in his expression as Justice briefly relinquished control. 

But only briefly. “If you harm Justice, you will harm Anders as well,” he heard his voice saying in what Justice probably thought was a reasonable tone. “A spirit may discard a damaged body and choose a new one, but not so the one who was born to it.”

Her shoulders slumped, defeated. It almost hurt to look at her that way. Hawke was usually the one taking charge, taking control. Hawke was usually the one winning. But she nodded wearily, and her lips opened, and Justice rammed Anders’ cock into her mouth. 

He didn’t want to enjoy it. Maker, he _shouldn’t_ enjoy it. But he’d been limited to his own hand for years now, and that had been only after he’d overcome the embarrassment of having Justice along for the ride. Hawke’s mouth was soft and hot, and he’d been imagining it for a long time now, ever since she’d flirted with him back in his clinic. He tried to focus on her anguished expression, her anger and her sorrow and her pity for him – for _him_! – but it was no use. There was something in him – something that was not Justice, but that came from a source deep in the part of his being that he would rather not examine too closely – that gloried in her helplessness, and though he liked to think that he would have closed his eyes if he could, it was Justice who controlled them, and so he held her gaze as he gasped and shook and came into her mouth.

“I begin to see why people do this,” remarked Justice as he pulled away. 

Hawke spat his own semen at him. It landed about where his heart was, which Anders thought seemed rather fitting. “Bastard. Get out.”

 _You’re right. I’m a bastard, and I should get out. We should get out._ Already he felt terrible about what they’d done. Yes, he’d wanted to do it – dreamed of Hawke’s mouth on him – but not like this, never like this. Why had Justice interfered?

He tried to get up, to apologize, but his body didn’t move, and the words that came from his mouth were not the ones he wanted to say. “Oh, no. I’m not finished.”

“Bodahn!” Hawke shouted, twisting under his body. Justice slid his knees to either side of her, pinning her down; his hands tightened on her wrists. “Orana!”

“They can’t hear you. I sent them away.”

 _I sent them away._ Guilt flooded him; he was sorry, now, that he had done that. If he hadn’t made sure the mansion would be empty, Justice wouldn’t have been able to take over and –

 _And rape Hawke. That’s what this is_ _._

But even as he acknowledged it, his prick was already hardening again. He tried to will it away, but it was no use. There was a certain illicit excitement in what he was doing – what Justice was doing – and he could not fight the tendrils of electricity it sent up his spine. 

Justice gathered Hawke’s wrists in one hand and used the other to rip off the linen undergarment Hawke wore around her breasts. Anders was glad that Justice’s gaze lingered there, as her breasts were beautiful; small, trim, shapely. He wanted, suddenly, to take one into his mouth, and was surprised and gratified when Justice bent forward to do so. _Did you do that for me? Or is it just that you can’t resist, either?_

Her warm, soft skin filled his mouth. He licked at the hardening nipple, and she gasped as he gently scraped it with his teeth. Her body shifted under his, and he felt her wrists go slack under his palm. He was fully hard again, ready and wanting, and it was only when he tried unsuccessfully to move his knees, so that he could slide between her legs, that he remembered that Justice was in control. 

Hawke must have remembered, though, for without warning she brought her wrists up sharply, breaking his grip, then grabbed his shoulders and shoved him away from her. “Anders, you’ve got to control yourself! You’re only going to hate yourself in the morning if you keep this up.”

Maker’s breath, she looked as though she really meant it – as though she didn’t care at all for herself, but only for how he’d feel when he came back to himself. Like he had after he’d almost killed that girl down in the tunnels. She was right, of course; he would hate himself after Justice subsided, knowing what he’d done to Hawke. To be honest, he hated himself more than a little already. But at the moment all he wanted was to fuck her hard, again and again, and he didn’t want to examine how much of that was Justice’s influence and how much was his own shameful desire.

He’d had dark fantasies, of course. Hadn’t everyone? But there was a difference between holding your partner’s wrists playfully, knowing they could move out from under you at any moment they chose, and pinning them down while they tried to get away. Once, when he’d been in the Circle, a good-looking Templar named Denis had put a strong hand on his shoulder to stop him from going into a room containing powerful artifacts. That night he had beat off furiously to the image of Denis slamming him against the wall, rucking up his robes, fucking him right there against the storeroom door. But it didn’t mean he’d wanted Denis to actually _do_ it. 

His fantasies about Hawke had been more standard-issue stuff. Sex, basically. He’d imagined a romantic evening. He’d hoped to strip off her robes and kiss her – her mouth, her breasts, between her legs – and he’d imagined her mouth on his body. He’d imagined her licking a stripe down his cock, imagined her sliding onto him, moving those slender, athletic hips, her hand fisted in his hair. 

But Justice had changed everything. She’d hate him after this. A sudden wrenching certainty filled him. _That’s what you’re after, isn’t it._ That was the point. That was why Justice was doing it.

She’d hate him, and he’d never get that chance again, to romance her. To love her. It was a terrible loss, and it hurt to think about it.

But he _had_ come into her mouth.

He was holding her down. He was hard again. Well, it wasn’t him; it was Justice doing it. And that was the thing about being shoved into a corner of one’s own body while someone else took over. He didn’t have to think about anything. He couldn’t do anything. And so there was no harm, was there, in enjoying the things that Justice was doing with his body?

“Maybe in the morning,” Anders’ traitorous mouth said. “But I intend to enjoy this now.” His hands slammed down on Hawke’s shoulders, hard enough to make her wince, and roughly turned her over, pushing her face into the pillow and trapping her arms under her body. One hand reached down to tear off her underwear; then his knees forced her legs apart and he thrust his fingers up between her legs.

Maker, but she was wet. Maybe she liked this kind of rough treatment? But no, she was struggling under him, making angry sounds into the pillow. More likely it was only that she’d been excited from the anticipation when they’d kissed so sweetly before coming upstairs. But touching her had sent a shiver down his spine, and he wanted so badly to thrust into her that it was an agony waiting those brief moments until Justice moved to do it.

There was nothing he could do, he told himself. He could look nowhere but where Justice directed his gaze, and so he watched Hawke struggle under him, sweat beading on her neck under her short hair. He could not move other than as Justice directed his body to move, his hips jerking forward and thrusting deep into her, his fingers tightening on her hips and shoulders, holding her down as he fucked her. The gasps coming from his mouth were Justice’s gasps, not his own. 

Things got a bit vague after that. He remembered another exquisite orgasm, but then somehow Hawke was on her back, her hands tied behind her around one of the bedposts, and he was thrusting into her again as she screamed at him, her words sliding through his ears without making any sense at all. Despite all the old jokes about Warden stamina he didn’t think he could have got hard again right away, and anyway, he didn’t remember tying Hawke to the bed, so some time must have passed without his noticing. His thigh hurt, too, and he noticed a patch of scorched skin when Justice turned his head enough that he could see it in his peripheral vision.

_She must have used a spell. No wonder I tied her up. Good thing she didn’t have her staff, or I’d be a grease spot on the coverlet._

Another hazy blankness, and then he was kneeling over her, rubbing her breasts, biting at her neck. Her hair was matted, whether with her sweat or his semen, he didn’t know. Maybe it was blood. He vaguely remembered healing the spot on his thigh where she’d burned him, or at least it didn’t hurt any more. Then he was between her legs, licking his own taste from her bruised and swollen pussy; then he was fucking her again; and then he was on the floor, his ears ringing, and his vision was filled with Aveline’s furious face as she walloped him with a fist that felt as though it were made of granite.

Anders’ head spun as it snapped back and hit the floor for what might have been the second time, or maybe the third. “Ow,” he said weakly. “Please don’t hit me again.”

“Get up.”

“Only if you don’t –”

“ _Get up._ ”

He got up. It wasn’t much fun; not only did his jaw ache where Aveline’s fist had connected with it, but his legs were as sore as if he’d been trying to outrun darkspawn and his shoulders and neck felt like he’d been trying to wield that maul Fenris used. Even his prick hurt. Well, that wasn’t a surprise. 

He looked around, wincing with the pain. Hawke was on her bed, in her house-robe, and Orana was leaning over her and sponging her face with a damp cloth. Bodahn was standing nearby, his arms crossed and his face worried, talking to one of the city guardsmen. Another guard had Anders’ robe in her arms. She looked to Aveline, who nodded grimly, and then handed the robe to Anders.

“Put it on and get out,” said Aveline.

“Yes, messere,” said Anders, as meekly as he could manage. He slipped his arms inside the robe and did up the fastenings. Those were his fingers, doing what he told them to do. He was uncomfortably aware that this had not recently been the case. 

_I came here to seduce Hawke. We kissed, I remember that. We – I remember some very good sex, at least. And some...other things._

He shuddered at the memories. _Other things_ barely covered it. “Justice,” he said aloud.

“No,” said Aveline, turning on him. Her eyes flashed. “For true justice I should lock you in the deepest dungeon in Kirkwall and throw away the key. But for some idiotic reason, Hawke doesn’t agree.”

He felt a warmth in his chest, a stuttering hope that maybe all was not lost. “She doesn’t? I mean, Hawke, I am so very, very sorry.” He tried to step around Aveline, but she moved to intercept him before he could get any closer to the bed. Hawke didn’t look up.

“She wants you to get out of her house,” said Aveline. “And to stay out. Melindra, Kennan, please escort him to the door.”

“But –” 

“Out.”

Her voice was firm, and it was final. As Anders let the guards take him down the stairs, she turned away, back to Hawke, and said something. Aveline’s voice was low and uncharacteristically soft, and Anders couldn’t hear what she said, but he could guess: _I’ve tossed that bastard out on his ass. I won’t let him bother you again._

The guards marched him straight to the door, not even letting him retrieve his staff. Hawke had given him that staff, spoils of one of their battles, and he supposed it was really hers, anyway. He still had his old one back at the clinic, and enough gold saved up from their adventures that he ought to be able to trade up to a better one before he took on the Templars.

For make no mistake, he _was_ going to take on the Templars. If Hawke didn’t want to see him again, well, he wasn’t sure she had ever completely agreed about the danger they posed to mages. He didn’t need her help – or her distraction, he understood that now. He was going to do what he needed to do.

Whistling, he turned the corner and headed toward the stairway that would lead him back to Darktown.


End file.
